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hotel, I doubt you’ll find one. The regatta starts this weekend; all of Hamilton is booked.”
    Creighton removed his hat and ran a hand through his chestnut hair.
    “However, you are having dinner with us tonight. I’m sure you didn’t have a proper wedding—”
    “The ship’s captain did an adequate job,” Marjorie tried to interject.
    “The least you can do is have a proper celebration dinner,” Mr. Ashcroft chided over his daughter-in-law’s argument. “A toast to your marriage and all that nonsense. While we’re at it, you can toast Griselda and me as well.” He placed an arm about his wife’s shoulders.
    As if on cue, she thrust her left hand in front of Marjorie’s face to display a gaudy, oversized sapphire and diamond ring.
    “That’s lovely,” Marjorie stated politely, once her eyes had adjusted focus.
    “Yes, Selina told me the news,” Creighton said matter-of-factly. “Congratulations, Father.” He turned his attention to his new stepmother. “Congratulations, Grizz . Or shall I call you ‘Mum’?”
    “Why you—” Griselda started in a nasal New Jersey tone, but quickly checked herself. “‘Grizz’ is fine,” she mustered with a pseudo-English accent that was more Margaret Dumont than Lady Windsor. “I’d better tell Selina to expect two more for dinner.” She excused herself and tottered off to the house.
    Mr. Ashcroft tipped his Captain’s hat before heading up the trail after his wife. “Seven-thirty, sharp,” he reminded his son. “Marjorie, I look forward to discussing your occupation in more depth. I’d like to get your professional opinion on some matters.”
    When he was out of earshot, Marjorie turned to Creighton. “I don’t know much about your father, but he doesn’t seem that bad to me. A little rough around the edges, maybe …”
    Creighton pulled a face. “He’s on his best behavior.”
    “Well, he just met me. Maybe he wants to make a good impression,” Marjorie suggested.
    “No, he’s up to something.”
    “Up to something? Like what?”
    “I don’t know, darling. But we’d both best be careful.”

Marjorie and Creighton returned from their trip to Hamilton, as Mr. Ashcroft predicted, without a hotel room. However, their trip had produced a collection of boxes in a dizzying array of sizes, colors, and shapes.
    “I’m so glad we got some clothing that didn’t come from the ship’s boutique,” Marjorie remarked as they scaled the front steps of the Black Island mansion. “I was starting to feel like an advertisement for White Star Lines.”
    “Well, next time we elope immediately after solving a murder case on a ship, I’ll make sure we pack first, darling.”
    “Although it could have been worse. If the ship purser hadn’t allowed us to use Michael Barnwell and Veronica Carter’s stateroom, we might have spent our wedding night in a broom closet or a lifeboat.”
    “Now that would have been a story for the grandchildren,” Creighton quipped from behind the stack of boxes he was balancing in his arms. “Can you open the door for me, dear?”
    Marjorie complied and the couple stepped into the front hall of the residence. With whitewashed walls, a hand-blown glass hanging lantern, and a Bermuda chest with cabriole legs, the room was minimally furnished, creating an atmosphere of cool comfort.
    Creighton led the way up the massive portrait-lined cedar staircase, down the hall, and into the second room on the right. “Here we are,” he announced as he dropped the parcels on the canopied four-poster bed.
    In addition to the intricately carved bed, the southwest-corner bedroom contained a Sheraton mahogany four-drawer chest, two silk upholstered wing chairs, and a rosewood bedside table. However, the stars of the room were the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the two far, perpendicular walls. They overlooked a wide expanse of ocean punctuated by small dots of land.
    Marjorie gasped in delight as she stepped through a window and out